


nothing fucks with my baby

by joshllyman



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, M/M, Sugar Daddy, everyone is legal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:29:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26944462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joshllyman/pseuds/joshllyman
Summary: Akaashi isn't exactly sure how he got here.Well, that’s not quite the truth. Chronologically speaking, he had met Bokuto Koutarou in a bar a few short months ago. Akaashi had been coming off a bad breakup, and maybe it was the heartbreak or maybe it was the way Bokuto’s lip caught between his teeth when he first caught sight of Akaashi. Either way, the night ended in Akaashi riding Bokuto up against the wall behind the bar.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 19
Kudos: 504
Collections: NSFW BokuAka Week 2020





	nothing fucks with my baby

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally going to be an entry for #nsfwbokuakaweek on twitter but i'm impatient so once i finished it i wanted to put it up. i did, however, use the day 4 prompts, skirts and stockings and sugar daddy. i hope you enjoy!

Akaashi isn’t sure exactly how he got here.

Well, that’s not quite the truth. Chronologically speaking, he had met Bokuto Koutarou in a bar a few short months ago. Akaashi had been coming off a bad breakup, and maybe it was the heartbreak or maybe it was the way Bokuto’s lip caught between his teeth when he first caught sight of Akaashi. Either way, the night ended in Akaashi riding Bokuto up against the wall behind the bar.

As it turns out, Bokuto is an incredibly successful businessman with a penchant for pretty things and spending money frivolously. This has all worked out rather well for Akaashi, who’s gotten several months worth of incredible sex and more money than he really knows what to do with at this point in his life. His savings account is more thickly lined than it’s ever been; there are occasional twinges of guilt, but he feels certain Bokuto has more money in his account than Akaashi will ever see in his future career as a writer. So he’ll take whatever Bokuto wants to give him for as long as he is interested; eventually, Akaashi muses, he’ll lose his lustre, and Bokuto will move on to the next shiny toy.

More specifically, though, he’s not sure how he got himself into this situation. Bokuto had sent him five hundred dollars, asking him to buy himself something nice to wear to dinner at his apartment. There had been no sexual intention behind the words, as far as Akaashi could tell. And yet, entirely of his own accord, he had purchased the outfit he’s now wearing. He wonders what Bokuto has done to his sanity.

Black sheer stockings cover his calves and half his thighs, ending in a complicated lace pattern a bit short of his groin. The stockings are clipped to a garter belt, which rests above a pair of black lacy panties that lack a back all together, so that when he turns around he gets a full view of his own ass, where a plug is just visible between his cheeks. There’s a dark red skirt on the bed waiting to be pulled on over the underwear, along with a white button-up shirt and black tie. He’d had the thought to roll up his sleeves; Bokuto has a thing for his arms.

At the moment, he hasn’t gotten that far, because he keeps ogling himself in the mirror. His ass looks  _ really good _ in these underwear. He knows Bokuto will appreciate them, too, and the thought has his cock sitting a little harder in the lace. 

His phone buzzes, and he tears himself away from the mirror to check it.

_ >>omw!! hope u look pretty for me ;) _

Akaashi chuckles dryly.

_ <<You have no idea. _

He layers on eyeshadow and mascara, adding wings the way Bokuto prefers. He takes one last look at his ass in the mirror, biting his lip. He rarely has this much confidence about how he looks; he has half a mind to thank Bokuto for this assignment. Then he puts on the skirt, shirt and tie. He’s just rolling his sleeves when his phone buzzes again.

_ >>im here!!!! come dooooooown _

There’s a few moments of deep breathing before he grabs his keys and heads out. He smears red lipstick over his lips in the elevator on the way down. There’s a wave of anxiety cresting inside of him that he has to fight down; the eyes of his neighbors in the lobby certainly do nothing to help that. This isn’t for them, he reminds himself. He needs no one’s approval but Bokuto’s.

Bokuto is leaning up against his car in a suit that beautifully accents his ridiculous frame, and he’s tugging on the end of his sleeve when Akaashi steps out into the night. His heels click against the cement as he approaches.

“Good evening, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto looks up, and his jaw drops. “Akaashi?”

Akaashi smiles. “Yes, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto whistles and runs a hand through his hair. “Wow.  _ Wow _ . I knew you’d blow me away. I mean I didn’t know what to expect, but…wow. Wow. Do a twirl for me.”

Akaashi spins around, the skirt lifting just a bit off his thighs. Bokuto shakes his head.

“Damn. You are so incredibly beautiful. How are you real?”

Akaashi feels a thrill run through him. The anxiety ebbs away, leaving in its place only the warm glow of Bokuto’s attention on him. “I hope your excessive compliments won’t make us late for our reservation,” he teases.

Bokuto laughs. “That’s the nice thing about dining in. The chef waits for you. Come on, gorgeous, come give me a kiss.”

Akaashi steps up to Bokuto, tugging on his tie as he leans in. Bokuto’s eyes shut. Akaashi stops just short of his lips.

“You’ll ruin my lipstick,” Akaashi breathes.

Bokuto’s eyes pop open, and he frowns. “Just one? For the road?” His voice comes out in a husky murmur, the kind that sends sparks down Akaashi’s spine.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for kissing me on the cheek.”

Bokuto’s bottom lip pouts out a bit more, but he leans in and presses his lips against Akaashi’s skin.

“I hope you don’t expect your makeup to be perfect all night,” he says into Akaashi’s ear.

“You’ll have to play your cards right, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi answers. “Although I assure you, you want to see what’s under the skirt.”

With that, Akaashi steps around Bokuto and slides into the car. Bokuto moans as he follows after.

“You’re a tease, Akaashi Keiji,” he says. He signals to the driver, who speeds off. 

“Of course I didn’t mean to,” Akaashi says, smiling, and Bokuto laughs. He’s loud enough to take up any space, bright enough that all eyes are drawn to him in any room. In the small space of the car, it’s overwhelming. Akaashi has only the vaguest idea why it’s him that Bokuto has chosen to occupy himself with. 

“You can make it up to me,” Bokuto says.

Akaashi arches an eyebrow in question. Bokuto lifts his arm up.

“It is safest for me to remain on this side with my seatbelt on,” Akaashi observes.

Bokuto huffs. “There’s a seatbelt in this seat, too. C’mere, please?”

Akaashi isn’t good at telling Bokuto no. He slips out of his own seat and scoots into Bokuto’s embrace. Bokuto does the seatbelt for him and drops a kiss onto the crown of his head.

“Thank you,” Akaashi says after a moment, a bit taken off guard.

“Can’t have you getting hurt,” Bokuto murmurs into his hair.

It’s moments like these where Akaashi almost tricks himself into thinking this is something more than it is. With Bokuto’s arm around him, his comforting weight draped across Akaashi’s shoulders, his scent filling Akaashi’s nose, it’s too easy to believe he’s something more than a silly plaything. But that can be remedied easily.

His hand drops to Bokuto’s knee, and he rubs circles into the muscle on the inside. Bokuto hums contently. Probably unconsciously, his legs fall open a bit. Akaashi takes advantage of this, letting himself inch closer to Bokuto’s groin. He keeps his touches light, intentionally frustrating. Bokuto’s thigh is solid beneath his touch, and he can’t help the thrill that goes through him at the thought of those thighs being wrapped around him.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto murmurs. “You’re handsy today.”

Akaashi lowers his lashes as he looks up into Bokuto’s eyes. “You look good,” he says simply.

Any answer Bokuto might have had is interrupted by Akaashi sliding his hand a little further upward, just short of the line of his cock. Bokuto moans, throwing his head back. In the rear view, Akaashi sees the driver’s eyes flick to the back seat in interest.

Bokuto’s fingers wrap around Akaashi’s wrist, and Akaashi looks back at him. His eyes are huge, golden, shining, and trained intently on Akaashi. He’s breathing heavily, and Akaashi suddenly realizes he is, too. 

Slowly, Bokuto laces their fingers together. 

“Sorry,” Akaashi murmurs, hypnotized.

Bokuto shakes his head. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Akaashi swallows. He’s leaning in, and Bokuto is, too, only time has slowed down and they’re both moving through molten lava, their movements exaggerated and slow, and all Akaashi can feel is Bokuto’s hand in his own and the pounding of his heart in his ribcage—

“We’ve arrived, sir,” says the driver.

The spell breaks; Bokuto blinks, shakes his head just a fraction, and looks up to the front seat.

“Thank you,” he says. 

The driver nods. Bokuto slides out his side and offers a hand to Akaashi. Akaashi takes it and slips out after him.

Bokuto doesn’t drop his hand as they enter the lobby, where he cheerfully greets the doorman and the clerk. He doesn’t let go as they wait for the elevator. Once they’re alone inside, Bokuto turns to Akaashi.

“We could skip dinner,” he suggests.

Akaashi laughs quietly. “Your chef went to all that trouble for you.”

“But Akaashi…” He presses himself closer. Akaashi takes a step back, but even so, he can still feel Bokuto’s cock against his leg. “I don’t want to wait.”

“Patience,” chides Akaashi, but it’s choked out and not especially strong.

Bokuto steps forward again and takes Akaashi’s face in his hands. Akaashi is suddenly very aware of the cool wall of the elevator against his back.

“Akaashi…” Bokuto breathes. 

The temptation to give in to Bokuto, to pull the emergency stop button and fuck him or be fucked by him before they even get to the apartment, is strong enough that Akaashi has to ball his hand into a fist. 

“Bokuto-san,” he breathes. “Just a bit longer.”

Bokuto leans in and touches their foreheads together. Akaashi swallows, leaning up into the contact, and the elevator beeps with their arrival on the top floor. Neither of them move.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says again.

Bokuto takes a long inhale and pulls away. Then he smiles brightly and offers Akaashi his hand.

“Come on,” he says. “I’ve got a great dinner planned for us.”

Akaashi takes his hand and follows him. He half expects Bokuto to push him up against the door once it’s closed behind them, but he leads Akaashi into the kitchen instead. On the counter there’s a loaf of French bread and a pan.

“I actually gave my chef the night off,” Bokuto says. 

“So we’re having just bread for dinner?” Akaashi questions. “I’m afraid we’ll be quite hungry later.”

“And you said I’m impatient!” Bokuto says with a laugh. From the fridge he pulls blocks of cheese and a tub of butter. “Grilled cheese sandwiches! I learned to make these when I studied abroad in the States. Lived on ‘em when I was in college.”

It occurs to Akaashi that he’s asked very few questions about Bokuto’s personal life. Prior to now, he hadn’t even known that Bokuto had studied abroad. There are a lot of things he doesn’t know about Bokuto. Things he wishes he knew. Things he wishes he had the right to ask.

“So how do you make your...what did you call them?”

“Grilled cheese,” Bokuto says. He wraps his arms around Akaashi from behind and takes his hands. “First, you gotta slice the bread.”

Akaashi turns his head. “I think I know how to slice bread, Bokuto-san.”

“So you’re a fancy pants now,” Bokuto says. He guides Akaashi through the motion of slicing bread and cheese for their sandwiches. Together, they drop a hunk of butter into the pan and let it sizzle, and Bokuto shows him how to stack the sandwich and smear more butter on the outside of the other slice of bread.

“And now we wait,” he says quietly. 

Akaashi turns in his arms. “How long do we have to wait?”

“Until the bread is a light golden brown,” Bokuto recites. Then he grins. “Unless you’re a heathen and you like your sandwich black.”

“I’m afraid I have no frame of reference, so I’ll have to trust you.”

Bokuto’s eyes shine in the light of the kitchen. He cradles Akaashi’s cheek with his hand. “Guess you will.”

They stare at each other for a long moment. Akaashi isn’t sure if he feels warm because of Bokuto’s eyes on him or because of the heat from the pan.

“Looks like it’s time to flip,” Bokuto says.

They make their whole dinner that way, with Bokuto wrapped around him from behind. It’s uncomfortable, sort of, in the way that it should make him uncomfortable because he doesn’t generally like people in his space, but. He doesn’t seem to mind Bokuto in his space.

Their grilled cheese is paired with an excellent vintage of red wine, and something about that makes Akaashi want to laugh, especially when Bokuto comes away from his first bite of sandwich with a long string of cheese hanging down from his mouth. He grins as he grabs it away from Bokuto and licks it off his own finger.

“Thief!” Bokuto accuses. “You have your own sandwich.”

“Yours is tastier,” Akaashi says simply.

Bokuto laughs. “I bet that line works for you all the time, doesn’t it?”

Akaashi’s breath catches in his throat. Bokuto’s eyes shine with humor and an easy smile spreads across his face. It’s a scene Akaashi has seen hundreds of times now, for Bokuto dearly loves to laugh, but something about it has Akaashi’s hands trembling and his heart pounding furiously in his chest.

“You’re staring,” Bokuto says, lifting an eyebrow at him. “What’d I do?”

Akaashi remembers the power of speech in the nick of time. “Nothing,” he says quickly. He reaches out and wipes Bokuto’s top lip with his thumb. He pushes it briefly into Bokuto’s mouth before stealing it away. “You had cheese on your lip.”

“Huh?” Bokuto quickly dabs at his face with a napkin, and Akaashi is grateful for his own quick thinking.

Dessert is mochi ice cream sandwiches from the conbini on the corner. Something about the vision of businessman Bokuto in a finely pressed suit and expensive shoes walking into a conbini sticks in Akaashi’s brain, makes him think about Bokuto’s true self. He can’t have gotten where he is without being cutthroat, Akaashi imagines, without stepping on anyone who’d gotten in his way to the top. But it’s hard to imagine that from the Bokuto who beams brightly when he catches Akaashi watching him, the Bokuto who gets red-faced when Akaashi’s foot brushes against his leg.

Akaashi feels certain that the real Bokuto is the one across the table from him, who has to correct himself when he goes to wipe his hands on suit pants, who makes simple sandwiches for dinner; the other must be a facade.

When Akaashi has taken the last bite of dessert, he turns to Bokuto, who’s practically vibrating with eagerness. There’s still a bit of wine in both their glasses. Akaashi reaches for his and fixes Bokuto with a look.

“Can I help you?” Akaashi asks.

Bokuto reaches out and takes Akaashi’s cheek in his hand. Akaashi sets down the glass and allows Bokuto to swipe a thumb over his cheekbone gently.

“I’ve been so patient…” he murmurs.

“Yes,” Akaashi agrees. “For the most part.”

“Then do I deserve a reward?”

Akaashi chuckles softly and leans up into Bokuto’s palm. “What do you think, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto leans in toward Akaashi. “I think I deserve whatever I want,” he murmurs, his voice adopting a husky tone.

“Oh, I don’t know if you’ve been  _ that _ good,” Akaashi replies, his voice dipping to match Bokuto’s. As Bokuto goes for a kiss, he swerves so that he can whisper into Bokuto’s ear. “But I do think I’d like one more course to the evening’s meal.”

Akaashi falls to his knees in front of Bokuto, who hums appreciatively. Akaashi opts to pick up where he left off earlier, running a hand up the inside of Bokuto’s thigh. Bokuto’s breath hitches in his throat as Akaashi comes closer and closer to his cock.

“Please don’t tease me anymore, Akaashi,” Bokuto requests. “I don’t think I can take it.”

Akaashi looks up and meets his eyes, and they’re still locked on him as his hand meets the bulge of Bokuto’s cock. Then Bokuto’s eyes fall closed, and he leans his head against the back of the chair.

There’s a long, loud moan that tears itself from Bokuto’s throat as Akaashi’s hand finally reaches his cock. Akaashi presses down harder, letting his palm grind down against Bokuto. Bokuto’s hip buck up into Akaashi’s touch. Akaashi lets his hand stay still, lets Bokuto do the work for him as a smirk paints its way across his face. Bokuto whines.

“Kaaaaaashi.”

“Not enough for you, Bokuto-san?” he teases. He lifts his hand just a further away so that Bokuto has to strain to get any pressure against himself.

“Stop—goddamnit, stop fucking with me, Akaashi,” Bokuto growls.

Something about his tone of voice sends shivers down Akaashi’s spine, and he’s torn, torn between wanting to obey and wanting to push Bokuto just a little further. It’s the second urge that wins out, and he reaches up and runs his nails along Bokuto’s jaw.

“Come on, Bokuto-san,” he whispers, and Bokuto visibly shivers. “Work for it, just a little.”

Bokuto’s eyes are wide when Akaashi pulls back, and Akaashi can see there’s a part of him that would submit for him, would probably do anything Akaashi asked. After a moment, though, he lowers his hips back to the chair and reaches for Akaashi’s hand.

“I don’t think I will,” he says, guiding Akaashi to his belt. “Not when I’ve got you here, ready and willing to work for me.”

Akaashi pauses, and Bokuto stares hard at him. These moments where they ‘fight’ for control are so deliciously tense, but inevitably, Bokuto wins out. Akaashi hums, a soft noise from the back of his throat.

“I suppose I can help you out,” he murmurs.

He undoes Bokuto’s belt and zipper and slips his cock out of his pants. He strokes it several times, the weight of it solid in his hand, before he brings it down to his mouth. He presses a kiss to the tip, leaving the imprint of his lips behind in red. 

“That’s it,” Bokuto breathes, his fingers running through Akaashi’s hair. “Suck my cock, sweetheart.”

Akaashi’s eyes are locked onto Bokuto’s as he takes his cock into his mouth. Bokuto groans, hands curling into fists. He doesn’t force Akaashi’s head—that’s a well-established rule—but his grip on the ends of Akaashi’s curls send sparks of pleasure down his spine.

Bokuto likes it messy, likes when Akaashi drools over his cock and down his chin, which given his size is extremely convenient. It means Akaashi doesn’t have to be self-conscious about gagging, about pulling back and licking when his girth is too much, about the way his eyes begin to water when Bokuto’s tip presses against the back of his throat. 

“You love this, don’t you,” Bokuto murmurs, voice quiet but commanding. “You love having me in your mouth, love taking my dick as far as you can.”

Akaashi looks up at him again and takes him a little deeper, and Bokuto’s face splits into a smile. 

Akaashi pulls back to focus on the head, swirling his tongue fervently around the tip, and uses his hand to stroke the shaft. Bokuto’s legs fall open wide, and when Akaashi looks up he sees Bokuto’s head back against the chair, one hand brushed back through his hair. Akaashi knows this look, knows it means he’s doing well. He takes Bokuto down, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing, before pulling back and increasing his pace. 

Bokuto’s breath comes in short pants, little whines escaping through his nose. He’s close, and Akaashi thrills at the thought of bringing him to completion just like this, on his knees at the dinner table, still in his slacks, his tie still tight around his throat.

“Kaashi, let me get my hands on you,” Bokuto complains.

Akaashi pops off his cock, a trail of saliva clinging to his lips. He licks his lips, and Bokuto’s eyes follow the movement as he shimmies his pants off. “You don’t want to come in my mouth?”

Bokuto pauses in the action of pulling off his boxers, and his lip pouts downward. “Well, yeah, but I wanna come in your ass more. Don’t you want me?”

Akaashi huffs. He presses one last kiss to Bokuto’s now-bare cock before he slides upward. “Of course I want you, Bokuto-san,” he murmurs. He tugs at Bokuto’s tie, loosening it and letting it fall to the side. “Why do you think I got all dolled up?”

“Do I get to see what’s under the skirt?” Bokuto asks eagerly as he undoes his shirt. 

Akaashi doesn’t answer that. Instead he swings one leg over Bokuto’s thigh and sits down, intentionally dragging his erection against the muscle. The friction after so long without being touched is delicious, and it takes a fair amount of self-control to keep himself from repeating the motion. But it’s not about him; he should focus on Bokuto. He takes Bokuto’s hands, which had been loosely balled into fists at his sides, and directs them to the knot of his tie. 

Bokuto takes his time as he undresses Akaashi. He goes about his task with great care, his tongue stuck out of the side of his mouth in concentration. It’s terribly endearing, and Akaashi has to look up at the ceiling so he doesn’t dwell on it. His tie falls to the floor in a small pile, followed shortly by his shirt. Bokuto sighs as he runs a hand down Akaashi’s chest. 

“Keep going,” Akaashi murmurs, encouraging him.

Bokuto’s hands are shaking as he unzips the skirt. One of them falls to Akaashi’s thigh, still trembling. Akaashi leans into his space and presses a kiss to his cheek before standing again and letting the fabric fall to the floor.

“Oh,” Bokuto says.

A tent holds up the front of Akaashi’s underwear, the lace tight around the form of his cock. Akaashi turns for him, allowing him to admire the view. When he’s turned enough for Bokuto to see the plug that peeks out from between his cheeks, Bokuto moans.

“Fuck,” he says as Akaashi turns to face him again. “You were right. And you’re keeping those on. C’mere.”

Akaashi goes to him slowly, staying standing but leaning down to kiss him properly for the first time all night. 

“Finally,” Bokuto murmurs against his lips in a brief moment of separation.

Bokuto’s big hands come around to Akaashi’s ass and knead the muscle there. Akaashi runs his fingers through Bokuto’s hair. He’s always surprised at how soft it is; when he’d first touched it, he’d expected to come away with a handful of gel, but the electrocuted look seems to be natural. He feels Bokuto smile against his lips as he taps the end of the plug.

“Were you thinking of me when you put this in?” Bokuto asks.

Akaashi had left most of his lipstick on Bokuto’s cock, but there’s enough left that when he backs off, there’s traces of it on Bokuto’s mouth. He reaches over for a napkin to wipe the mess away. “Bokuto-san, I’ve barely stopped thinking about you all day.”

The truth seems to surprise Bokuto, who may have been expecting a teasing answer. He smiles and tugs Akaashi down into his lap. One hand slips around Akaashi’s back; he tugs at the plug, loosening it and slipping it out part way before sliding it back in. 

Akaashi stifles his moan on Bokuto’s mouth. Bokuto repeats the process twice more, and Akaashi occupies himself trying not to cry out by kissing Bokuto as deeply and thoroughly as he can. 

“You know I wanna hear you, baby,” Bokuto murmurs. “Scream for me.”

Bokuto tugs the plug out completely and replaces it with two fingers. Akaashi doesn’t realize what’s happened until he feels the burn of them, the way Bokuto scissors them apart and stretches his rim. He sinks downward, trying to grind on them, but Bokuto grasps his hip firmly, keeping him still. His fingers press upward, approaching Akaashi’s prostate without actually touching it, and then shying away. The slow, gentle prodding is nothing like what he wants, and he groans in frustration. Bokuto only chuckles.

“You didn’t think you’d get your fill without me teasing you, did you?” he asks. He brushes his lips against Akaashi’s neck, making Akaashi shiver. “Not when you’ve been so terrible to me all night.”

“I haven’t done anything you didn’t want,” Akaashi protests weakly.

“This is what I want,” Bokuto says. He pauses the movement of his hand entirely and uses the hand on Akaashi’s hip to grab harshly at his chin, instead. “I want you to fall apart right here, Akaashi. I want you to beg for my cock. I want you to want me so badly that you can’t even remember your own name.”

Akaashi has to swallow the lump in his throat to answer. “Bokuto-san…”

Bokuto chooses just that moment to drive his fingers upward again, directly into Akaashi’s prostate. Akaashi screams, the “I already do” lost in pleasure of Bokuto’s hand, and grips the back of Bokuto’s head, fingers tightening in his hair. Again and again, Bokuto pushes into him, harder and harder until Akaashi’s thighs tremble. He pulls out for a moment only to reach into his pocket for a bottle of lube.

“Are you serious?” Akaashi asks breathlessly.

Bokuto grins. “I had plans for you, sweetheart. I came prepared.”

Akaashi seeks Bokuto’s mouth with his own again, tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth. When Bokuto enters him again, it’s with three slicked fingers, and he’s back to stretching, teasing, prodding against him and pulling away again. Akaashi endures this, endures the leaking from his cock, endures the teasing from Bokuto’s hands and mouth. Even the softer Bokuto gets what he wants when he wants it, and Akaashi is powerless to ask for anything more.

Bokuto’s mouth is on his collarbone, sucking a dark bruise into his skin, and four fingers are pressed deep inside him, when Akaashi finally gives up the ghost. “Please, Bokuto-san,” he gasps.

“Please what?” asks Bokuto gruffly, pausing his incessant sucking for only the briefest of moments.

“Please, I need your cock,” Akaashi answers. If begging is what he wants, he can have it and more. “Bokuto-san, I want you to fill me, please. Give me your fat cock, fuck me, come on.”

Bokuto withdraws his hand with a grunt. The bulge of his erection is thick against Akaashi’s ass, and the reminder only serves to make Akaashi more desperate.

“Condom or no?” he asks.

Akaashi shakes his head. “As long as you’re clean.”

“It’s only been you,” Bokuto replies.

Akaashi wants to analyze it. He wants to break down the exact tone of voice, the timing, the cadence and timbre of the admission, and maybe at some point he will, but Bokuto chooses that moment to push the tip of his cock into Akaashi.

Akaashi groans into Bokuto’s skin. Bokuto’s cock is so thick, thicker than anything he’s had before, and it’s always a surprise even when he’s had his mouth on it and been thoroughly stretched. But it’s a momentary discomfort. Bokuto eases him down onto it, a bit at a time, and when he’s fully seated the pain is gone, replaced by the intense satisfaction of fullness.

“Kiss me,” Bokuto demands, and Akaashi does so hungrily, both hands grabbing at Bokuto’s face. It’s sloppy, their mouths meeting and parting, their tongues slipping all over one another’s. After a full minute of Bokuto’s girth pressing against his insides, Bokuto lets his hands fall to Akaashi’s hips.

“You gonna ride me or what?” he asks.

“Ask me nicely,” Akaashi murmurs.

Instead, Bokuto squeezes, his nails scratching at the flesh beneath his fingers. “Are you going to ride me, or what?” he repeats, his voice lower.

Akaashi’s mouth drops open in pleasure as he moves his hips upward. Bokuto loosens his grip but keeps his hands in place, guiding Akaashi to sink back downward onto him. He intends to keep his pace slow, to build them both up, but Bokuto lifts him again almost as soon as he bottoms out. Akaashi is a prisoner to his pacing, a servant to his selection, and all he can do is what he’s told. 

“Good,” mutters Bokuto. “Good, that’s it.”

Akaashi finds himself smiling, throwing his head back so Bokuto can access his neck. Bokuto seizes the opportunity and marks him up, sucks deep, dark bruises into supple skin. It won’t be the first time he’s been covered in hickies, the stamps of Bokuto’s possessive nature, and he can only hope it won’t be the last. 

Still faster Bokuto guides him, and Akaashi’s thighs burn with effort. Bokuto sinks down just a bit, and it drives his cock deeper inside. Akaashi moans Bokuto’s name, the prayer he speaks nightly falling easily from his lips. 

“Fuck yourself, sweetheart,” Bokuto encourages him. “Come on, take it, I know you can do it.”

Something carnal in Akaashi awakes, something that only Bokuto has ever brought forth. It makes him feral, little more than a wild creature seeking his own pleasure, and as Bokuto’s cock rams into him he scratches at Bokuto’s back.

Something in Bokuto changes, too, like a chemical reaction set off by the change in Akaashi. He bites at Akaashi’s shoulder, causing Akaashi to cry out. “Louder,” Bokuto demands. “Louder, come on, Akaashi, please.”

Akaashi buries his face in Bokuto’s neck, letting his voice be muffled as he gasps, “Daddy!”

Bokuto’s hands claw at Akaashi’s hips; his nails dig into already tender skin. “Fuck, baby, that’s it. I’ve got you.”

Akaashi clings to Bokuto. He tries to tighten his hold, tries to wrap his arms tighter and still move his hips, but every sense is overloaded. Taste, touch, scent, sound, sight, it’s all Bokuto. He can’t make his brain cooperate, can’t do anything but moan. “Your cock feels so good, Daddy, please!”

Bokuto thrusts his hips upward. “Let me take care of you, baby,” he instructs.

That’s more than okay with Akaashi, who trembles as Bokuto takes over. With each drive of his powerful hips up into Akaashi’s ass, he drives his cock into Akaashi’s prostate. Akaashi clings to him, babbling and crying out. His heartbeat roars in his ears, loud enough that he can’t hear himself anymore but knows he has to be deafening from the way his vocal cords quiver. 

Bokuto fumbles in his rhythm, his grasp on Akaashi’s hips loosening. He presses his open mouth against Akaashi’s chest. “Shit, I’m—Kaashi—I can’t—”

“Daddy, please, don’t stop!” Akaashi cries, prepared to try to move again.

Bokuto grunts, frustrated. “New idea,” he pants, slipping easily from Akaashi’s ass. Akaashi whines loudly, about to slur something like a complaint, but Bokuto soothes him with a palm flat against his back. “Just a second, sweetheart, we’re just going to move a bit.”

Bokuto somehow manages to get Akaashi standing, even though his legs feel like jelly, and lays him down on the table. Akaashi’s fingers curl into fists when he realizes what’s happening. 

“Yes, yes,  _ yes _ !”

Bokuto takes his hands and pins them flat to the table as he drives himself inside, much deeper than he could before. Akaashi’s legs wrap around Bokuto’s waist and hook together. 

There’s no stopping Bokuto now. He thrusts over and over, hitting that sweet spot every time, filling Akaashi repeatedly. Akaashi’s entire body is quaking, and he feels like Bokuto is making and unmaking him, ripping him apart and sewing him back together with every movement. He’s desperate, the friction of his own cock against the lace stifling and pathetic.

“Please, gods, please, Daddy, touch me,” Akaashi sobs.

Bokuto gives in, releasing Akaashi’s wrist and dipping his hand into the front of Akaashi’s underwear. Akaashi cries out, his toes curling in pleasure as heat begins to build in his groin. He clenches around Bokuto’s cock, trying to take him deeper and harder, trying to grasp at the last strands of his control as they slip away from him. Bokuto looks down at him, his brow shiny with sweat, and smiles.

“Daddy!” Akaashi screams.

Come spills into the lace of Akaashi’s underwear and out past the waistband. Bokuto’s pace on his cock only quickens as more release gathers in the folds of the fabric. Oversensitive, Akaashi uses his free hand to try to grab at Bokuto’s wrist. Although he stops jerking Akaashi off, Bokuto is relentless, seeking his own completion and fucking him harder and harder. Akaashi’s entire body pulses to the rhythm of Bokuto’s thrusts, and there are tears starting to gather in the corner of his eyes when Bokuto’s warmth fills him. Bokuto bends over him, supporting himself with his elbows and burying his face in Akaashi’s stomach as he gasps. 

Time unravels around them as they come down from their high. Beyond their little corner of Tokyo, the world marches madly on, but in Bokuto’s penthouse, clocks stop and the gods watch as Bokuto and Akaashi come back to themselves, no longer one but two. The tears spill down Akaashi’s cheeks, but he lets them be. Bokuto lifts his head, notices them, and kisses them away.

“Let’s go to the couch,” he suggests.

Akaashi mumbles something that might be an assent. Bokuto slips out of him, still half-hard, and wearily Akaashi wonders if he could get in a handjob at the end of Bokuto’s frighteningly short refractory period. He’s carried or dragged or somehow relocated to the couch, and he curls up in Bokuto’s lap, his cheek flush with Bokuto’s chest.

“You made a mess of your pretty panties,” Bokuto murmurs. Akaashi likes when he speaks when he’s holding him tight like this, likes feeling the rumble of his chest.

“You wouldn’t let me take them off,” Akaashi reminds him.

Bokuto hums. “Guess we’ll just have to buy you a new one.”

Akaashi feels himself blush. He’s grateful Bokuto can’t see it. “Guess so.”

Akaashi has had a lot of good sex with Bokuto, but nothing that compared to tonight’s experience. He has a feeling he’ll be thinking about this night for a long, long time, long after Bokuto discards him, long after he settles down with some boring, safe partner and moves out of the city. The thought fills him with bitterness, and he childishly clings to Bokuto, clings to whatever time they have left.

Bokuto hums into his ear, out of tune and barely audible, and rubs slow circles into his back. Akaashi doesn’t recognize the song he’s chosen, but it’s soothing and soft, and Akaashi finds his mind clearing the longer Bokuto goes on, his humming changing to hushed singing. One by one, his muscles relax, his tension disappears, and his heart and brain finally slow.

_ “Ain’t it a gentle sound, the rolling in the graves? Ain’t it like thunder under earth, the sound it makes? Ain’t it exciting you, the rumble where you lay? Ain’t you my baby, ain’t you my baby?” _

“Akaashi,” Bokuto murmurs.

Akaashi blinks back to life, surprised to find he’d dozed off. “Bokuto-san,” he slurs back.

“I’m gonna take you to bed, sweetheart,” Bokuto says. “Make sure you’re holding tight.”

Akaashi can’t find it in himself to protest, so he locks his legs around Bokuto’s waist as Bokuto stands. Bokuto carries him like his weight is nothing. Akaashi has always thought his body was designed for athletics or bodybuilding rather than office work. In another life, perhaps, he supposes. 

Bokuto sets him down gently on the bed. “Gonna get some washcloths,” he says. He offers Akaashi a soft smile and a kiss on the forehead before disappearing into the bathroom.

It’s harder to convince himself that all he wants is sex when Bokuto looks at him like that. It’s harder to convince himself it’s all Bokuto wants when he returns from the bathroom and carefully, tenderly wipes away the last remnants of Akaashi’s makeup and the stray come that spurted onto his stomach. It’s harder to convince himself when Bokuto lays him down and covers him up with the excessively soft blankets before going around to the other side of the bed and slipping in beside him, his arms heavy around Akaashi’s waist.

But maybe just in this moment, he doesn’t have to convince himself of anything. Maybe for now he can just relax and let this moment, the warmth, the comfort, the satisfaction, consume him until he falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> the title comes from the song bokuto was singing there at the end, nothing fucks with my baby (nfwmb) by hozier  
> my socials can be found [here](https://joshllyman.carrd.co)


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